


jubilee line

by axeidentall



Series: senses - sleepy bois songfics [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Dream Smp, Family Dynamics, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Songfic, THERE ARE NO FICS CENTERED AROUND WILBUR SO I SAID FUCK IT AND MADE MY OWN, Vilbur, Wilbur Centered, and haven't played piano officially in like five years, don't come at me, i am a guitarist, i really miss wilbur man, i'll add the definitions of the terms in the notes, im sorry if i get these terms wrong, jubilee line - wilbur soot, l'manberg, lots of music references and vocabulary. you'll get the gist of them through context, no beta we die like men, spoilers wilbur fucking dies lmaoooo, that's my comfort streamer bby!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:00:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29000343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axeidentall/pseuds/axeidentall
Summary: wasting your timeyou're wasting mineThe music in your head is eternal, rhythms and beats powering your steps. Melodies flow off your tongue and crescendos of sound echo from your most prized possession: a small, wooden ukulele given to you by a pitying woman on the street.It's cold and your stomach begs for food, but you learn to ignore it by filling your body with rhapsodies and ballads, sweet songs created by your six year old mind to hide the fact that you've been alone for so long you've forgotten what the warmth of a bed feels like.[a songfic sequel to 'achilles come down', this time from wilbur's pov. the song is 'jubilee line' by wilbur soot.]
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Tommyinnit & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: senses - sleepy bois songfics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2116629
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	jubilee line

**Author's Note:**

> the most important vocab words that come up a lot in this fic (you don't need to read all of this, but if you really want a deep understanding of the fic or if you wanna see cool little connections then maybe you should familiarize yourself with these. don't feel obligated to though!)
> 
> sforzando - a loud and abrupt note/chord that is played suddenly  
> -  
> vivace - typically a lively or upbeat tune. a dynamic piece that tends to be quickly paced.  
> -  
> staccato - a quickly played note/chord, never held for a prolonged period of time. short and sweet  
> -  
> tremolo - an effect on a sustained note/chord that creates a trembling sound.  
> -  
> coda, or the weird symbol shaped like a circle with a plus sign placed in it - a symbol that signifies the beginning of the end of a piece

_wasting your time_

_you're wasting mine_

The music in your head is eternal, rhythms and beats powering your steps. Melodies flow off your tongue and crescendos of sound echo from your most prized possession: a small, wooden ukulele given to you by a pitying woman on the street. It's cold and your stomach begs for food, but you learn to ignore it by filling your body with rhapsodies and ballads, sweet songs created by your six year old mind to hide the fact that you've been alone for so long you've forgotten what the warmth of a bed feels like.

Every day you travel to the market and play your small ukulele until your fingers bleed. The coins you've stacked up in your beanie are just barely enough for you to buy a sandwich by dusk.

You're small, frail, and weak, but the music soothes your worries and hides your pain. The comforting sound of a piano that isn't there fills you with drowsiness and you put your head on the rocky concrete to rest.

_i hate to see you leaving_

_a fate worse than dying_

You only have one friend on the streets, a regular who always makes sure to come to your performances. He's your age, but a strange one, with large ram horns that you're certain are real. Despite his odd mannerisms and promises for 'business', you let him stick around because his laughter sounds like a vivace piece. He sings and claps along to every single one of your songs, and even though he is off-beat, you laugh. He is the highlight of your day, and he's the only stable rhythm in your life.

However, the steady beat that Jschlatt has always been for you suddenly turns into that of an erratic one. He is whisked away daily because of his 'business', and rarely shows up to your performances. When he does, his usual suit is dirty and the purple splotches on his face tell you his business partners are not kind ones. You don't know how to comfort him other than do what you've always done, so you tune your ukulele for another performance. He listens to your songs as usual, but he doesn't sing.

Schlatt stops coming to your performances two weeks after he started making business deals. 

The nonexistent piano that plays for you at night sounds much sadder after his disappearance.

_your city gave me asthma_

_so that's why i'm fucking leaving_

A brilliant staccato note causes you to jolt awake, the first image meeting your eyes being that of green robes, hanging down from a man with shiny blonde hair. You briefly note that it looks almost like gold, but quickly swipe the thought away as repetitive dissonant chords play in your mind. Warning tremolos fill your ears, the pounding noises causing you to curl up in a pitiful attempt to hide from the man.

" _Are you okay, little one?_ "

His voice is different. It's gentle, it's _legato_ , it's soft and it's _leggero_. You have not heard such a pleasant melody of a voice in a long time.

The loud chords fade away, changing from godawful noises to quiet notes of wonder. Still, you recoil when the man outstretches a hand to you. People have done that to you multiple times, and you always hear a loud sforzando chord before you're knocked to the pavement. You shut your eyes, expecting the unpleasant sound when instead, you hear some ruffling. The man is searching his pockets for something- a weapon, perhaps? You're not sure. You've never directly fought with a weapon-wielder before. Just in case, you grab your ukulele and hold it up as a makeshift shield.

You lower your instrument when you see that the item the man is holding is in fact, not a knife, and actually a warm sandwich. You have not eaten a warm meal in years. Tentatively, you reach for it. The man does nothing but smile encouragingly as you take the food from his hands.

He continues to return, day after day, and your mind begins to fill with happy melodies every time the blonde man comes back.

One day, instead of offering food, he reaches to pick you up, and you do not resist. He places you back down in a warm cabin next to a wheat field.

That evening, you sing a song about home.

_and your water gave me cancer_

_and the pavement hurt my feelings_

The man- Phil -gives you two gifts on your second day. A welcome gift, he calls it. One is a cozy yellow sweater that is entirely too big for you, but you immediately stuff yourself in it upon feeling how soft it is. Phil watches you in wonder, unable to understand your infatuation with the soft object. 

" _You like that one a lot, huh?_ "

You look up at him as you rub your cheeks in the soft sweater. " _Warm_ ," you answer.

" _Don't get too comfortable yet. I still have the other gift for you._ "

He hands you a large item, one that is bigger than you are. You stare at it blankly, immediately forgetting about your sweater. The piece playing in your head swirls around confusedly as you try to comprehend the wooden object. Curiously, you run your small fingers over it, and it makes a sound much deeper than your tiny ukulele. You gasp, whipping your head up to face Phil.

" _Big ukulele!_ " You are a master of description. 

Phil laughs his usual warm laugh, sending a flurry of tiny jingle bells to go off in your mind. " _It's called a guitar, Wilbur_." He tells you you'll grow into it as you get older.

" _Guitar_ ," you repeat, staring at the instrument.

You play until your fingers bleed, eyes immediately shutting as soon as you stand up, but you don't care. You know that Phil will be there to catch you. There's no more worry about hitting the cold pavement.

You hear the piano play a light lullaby before you fall asleep.

_shout at the wall_

_'cause the walls don't fucking love you_

The music in your head has been playing happy tunes for years. You have not heard a sad and fearful ballad since Phil picked you up. You learn that each of your family members has a unique sound, a song created just for them. You hear it in the background every time they speak, every time they laugh.

Phil's piece is warm and soothing, melancholy at times. He sounds like acoustic guitars- identical to the one he gifted you -and twinkly kalimbas. His voice only adds to the tranquility of it all, calming you when you have nightmares and taking away the tenseness in your shoulders when you're stressed. 

Technoblade's piece used to sound cold and haunting, like an abandoned ghost orchestra. His song radiated loneliness and a chilly feeling. After he warmed up to you, however, his song is much calmer. It's different than Phil's. Instead of soothing acoustic guitars, Techno's song is safe and secure; the tempo is always at a steady pace, no matter the circumstance. A low bass is the most prominent instrument you can hear. You always feel safe when you hear his melody playing.

Tommy's piece is the most jarring to you, sounding like a loud rock song. When he's excited, a loud electric guitar blasts through your mind along with his shrilly voice. Even when he's sleeping, the wild child still emits sounds of loud tubas and trumpets and ear-splitting recorders. Despite this, his melody always cheers you up. You know to go to him when memories of a certain ram hybrid surface.

Even with all the petty arguments the four of you have at times, you always go to sleep with a piano playing a light melody in the background.

_shout at the wall_

_‘cause the walls don't fucking love you_

The music in your head has changed ever so slightly, now. It's gone through its stages, from cold and lonely ballads to warm and soft acoustic melodies. Clearly, you are moving through a new stage as the melodies have switched to confident, upbeat, hip-hop-like rhythms. And why shouldn't it? You're the leader of a budding nation, with Tommy as your right hand man. 

You left the comfort of Phil’s house in search of adventure, and your path led you to the Dream SMP. 

The leader and founder of the SMP- Dream - irks you. You don't know much about him, only that whenever you pass him, the music goes silent. No sound comes from him at all. The emptiness is unbearable to you. The one time you did hear something, it was a fast and desperate string of staccato notes- almost like a plea for help. You must have imagined it, you decide after hearing only insufferable silence follow it.

You realize after time passes that not only is Dream's music silence insufferable, but his personality is as well. He, for reasons beyond you, decides to declare war on your country for simply existing. If you were in his shoes, you'd never consider shutting down a budding country- after all, it's only a bit of land, right? -but clearly Dream does not have your logic.

Arrows burning with fire rain down on you and your new family. Each time one hits the ground, a sforzando chord plays loudly, screaming in your mind. When one hits your son, a crescendo of notes play, but they're all out of tune, a wild mess of sound screwing up your thoughts and sending you into further paranoia.

You think that the awful sounds will stop when Eret leads you into his bunker, but for some reason they only escalate into tremolos of warning and worry. You believe it's only leftover adrenaline from the battle causing it, thinking that the warnings are false, so you shove the feelings down.

A button is pressed.

The music never lies.

_there's a reason_

_that london puts barriers on the tube line_

It is the second time you have heard the warning tremolos at such a high intensity. Your stomach is flipping around and you shove down the urge to vomit. You want to run away, to feel the relief of quiet lullabies in your head, but you can't. The crowd needs to hear the result.

You clear your throat and try to hide your nerves when you announce that Jschlatt has won the elections. The same ram hybrid that used to clap for your small shows in the town square. The melodies in your head are disorienting, some still playing the vivace piece that he used to sound like and others still ringing out the distorted alarms.

Schlatt clears his throat.

_"My first decree, as the president of this great country..."_

The vivace piece is completely drowned out by a screeching jumble of notes as you run. Paranoia takes over. The slamming beat of an uneven bass drum pounds through your head, a shrieking violin pierces your ears. There's the scraping of a pick down the fretboard of an acoustic guitar, there's the awful sound of an out of tune piano, there's a distorted electric guitar, there's a shrilly recorder, there's a thousand different sounds at once and you can't handle them all and-

The world goes silent. 

[ ](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/8a/Coda_sign.svg)

_there's a reason_

_that london puts barriers on the rails_

The next few weeks are quiet. Your brother comes to visit, to help you gain your land back. You pretend to have a sense of hope, but you know that all is lost. L'manberg will never be the same, and you will never be in control of it again. 

At times, the silence in your mind is suddenly interrupted by blaring blasts of distorted sound. You clamp your ears over your head and scream when they get too loud, and the terrified face of your youngest brother goes unseen. As of late, the sounds have underlaying voices beneath them, whispering desires of dynamite and destruction. You can only take so much.

Another ear-splitting shriek of a violin causes you to flinch, the potatoes you were trying to plant falling out of your hands. Technoblade looks at you oddly, silently giving the potatoes back to you. You don't notice how he deliberately avoids touching your hands, choosing to roughly drop the crops into your palms instead of handing them to you.

More insufferable high pitched notes and distorted sounds cause you to clamp your hands over your ears again. Technoblade opens his mouth to ask what's wrong, but it's the opposite of comfort for you at the moment- the added effect of Technoblade's melody is overwhelming. You round on him, forgetting about the potatoes.

" _Shut UP."_

He blinks at you confusedly. _"Wilbur...?"_ You don't hear his response, only the slamming beat of a bass drum, which causes you to stumble further into madness.

You leave the ravine in search of some relief and come face to face with a masked man.

Tommy interrupts in the middle of your conversation and tries to convince you not to take the explosives. However, he goes unheard, pleas buried underneath layers and layers of sforzando chords and tremolos. The odd sounds don't scare you anymore. You welcome them instead, paying no heed to the warnings they used to give. They're just blaring sounds in your head like all the other ones, nothing more, nothing less. 

The piano does not play when you sleep. 

_there's a reason_

_that london puts barriers on the tube line_

The day has come to take back your land and eliminate Schlatt. Despite the large following you have gained, you still do not have faith that your nation can go back to the way it was. No matter what happens, you resolve to press the button. However, before you can get anywhere near the button, Schlatt collapses on the ground of the van. It's only a mild distraction. You would have heard his vivace piece slowly fading away, but it is drowned out by insufferable shrieks of sound.

Your memory of the little ram hybrid boy has been long forgotten.

While Tubbo is giving his speech, you sneak away to the button. Piercing shrills from a whistle begin to play. They are the closest thing you have to the happy little flute melodies that you used to hear when you were proud of an accomplishment.

You reach for the button. Finally. The stacks of TNT will destroy the source of your hurt and will be loud enough to drown out the horrid sounds that have driven you mad for the past month. Maybe, just maybe, you will feel a sense of relief. Maybe you will experience the ecstasy that is a peaceful melody- a sound you have not heard in a long time. You don't think you deserve it, though, because you've stolen the home of so many people.

Phil appears behind you before you can press the button, speckled wings folded neatly on his back. _"What are you doing?"_

You look away. You're afraid not to, knowing full well that if you could still hear his melody underneath all the noise it'd be playing a ballad full of exasperation and disappointment.

Before you can have any second thoughts, you press the button, ignoring Phil's gasps of horror. Explosions light your vision and for a split second, block out all noise. For a moment, it is peaceful. 

The tranquility does not last. L'manberg is completely gone, much to your relief, but the noises are not. In a last desperate attempt, you look up at your father.

 _"Phil, kill me."_ Phil's eyes widen at that. He shakes his head and says something, but you don't hear it. The noises are getting unbearable the longer you talk to him. They're almost quintuple the amount of noise you heard the first day when you were exiled. You decide to take matters into your own hands.

You slowly get to your feet and stare at Phil, taking his hand. Without hesitation, you impale yourself on his sword. A grim smile lines you face as you welcome the calming embrace of death.

The blaring music slowly comes to a stop. Distantly, you hear the sound of a piano playing a soft lullaby.

_there's a reason_

_they fail_

_fin._


End file.
